Sinner's Steel (Sinner's Tribe Motorcycle Club #3)(40)
“If I know Zane, and I do, he probably gave you his word that you won’t be harmed. But there’s a world of difference between hurt and harm.”
Wasn’t that the truth. His old man knew the difference. Zane’s father was always careful to hit Zane where the bruises couldn’t be seen. But the emotional abuse, the constant accusations that his mother died because of him, that he was worthless and no good and a burden on his dad, caused irreparable harm. If not for Evie and Jagger, Zane doubted he would have made it through school without some serious psychological damage, or landing his ass in jail.
Dax studied Doreen, his lips twisting to the side. Then he put away the whip and pulled a pair of scissors from the bag, holding them up to the light. “That hair’s gonna get in the way. Maybe I’ll give her a pixie cut, shaved up both sides with a piece in the middle for holding on to.” His phone buzzed in his pocket and he dug it out and frowned. “Damn. Timmy’s back in the principal’s office. That’s the problem with having five boys. I gotta spend half my day gettin’ them outta trouble. Excuse me love, I’ll be right back.”
Zane straddled the only chair in the cell and faced Doreen, resting his elbows on the metal back. “So who’s looking after your kid?” He’d never thought about the people their prisoners left behind, and especially not kids, but now that he had one of his own, he wondered how it all worked in the context of his world. What would happen to Ty if Viper snatched Evie and threw her in his dungeon? What kind of boy was he? Would he curl up in his room and cry? Would he dial 911? Would he go to a friend’s house?
Would he call his dad?
His fingers tightened on the chair. Fuck. What the f*ck was he doing here when Viper was still roaming the streets? He’d arranged for two brothers to watch their house, but he should be there looking after his own damn family instead of trying to take care of this one.
“Like I’m going to tell you.” Confident now that Dax was out of the room, Doreen shuffled back on the bed and leaned against the wall, her gaze focused on the table where Dax had left his equipment.
“I got a kid, too.” The unfamiliar words slipped off his tongue. “Just wanted to make sure yours wasn’t alone.” He glanced up at the camera, hoped the mic was off. He’d never live it down if the brothers heard him showing concern for a prisoner. Hell, they’d be shocked he showed concern for anyone. He had a reputation as a loner, an “ice man,” and he liked to keep it that way.
Doreen exhaled a long breath. “He’s with my mom in another town. Viper sends all the kids away. He doesn’t want the women he’s f*cking to be distracted. It’s hard to blow a man when your kid is whining for juice, especially because no one bothers with closed doors in the Black Jack clubhouse. MC women don’t get a choice of where they get f*cked.”
She gave him a sly look, her eyes slightly narrowed and a smirk on her lips. “Just like your redhead from the shop. She’s got no choice either. Viper wants her bad. Never seen him want a woman the way he wants her.”
“She’s with me.”
“And I was with Axle. Look what happened to him.”
Zane forced his muscles to relax, feigning disinterest. “Viper killed him to get you?”
Doreen opened her mouth and then closed it again, her eyes flicking back to the table. “It’s a long story and not one I’m wantin’ to share unless you’re gonna let me outta here. But I think it’s pretty damn obvious that Viper doesn’t let anyone or anything stand in the way of what he wants.”
“Neither do I.”
“So why are you here talking to me? He’s probably on his way to get your redhead right now.”
*
Evie dusted the tank of the Honda CB600F Hornet. Her client loved the matte black but needed a touch-up on the paint. The factory had put the clear coat over the decals and when he pulled them off the marks were visible. Even worse, the aftermarket front end’s color was off from the rest of the bike. Not a big job. She had a stock of color match paint and there weren’t many dents to fill. Maybe three hours and then she could get back to the work she enjoyed best, the custom designs, creative artwork that reflected the owner with a little bit of her soul thrown in.
Stan and Gene were working on a Kawasaki Ninja in the corner, badly damaged after the owner had skidded in the rain and dropped his bike under a stopped SUV. The fenders were dented beyond repair and there was substantial mechanical damage—almost a write-off, but not enough for the bike’s insurers who were footing the bill. Insurance claims made up the bulk of the mechanics’ work, taking them away from the custom builds that had first drawn them to Bill’s shop.
“Morning, all.” As if on cue, Bill walked into the shop through the back door, all relaxed like he hadn’t just up and disappeared a week ago. “Can anyone tell me why the back entrance is covered in bullet holes?”
Big Bill, so named because he was six feet five inches tall and maybe half as wide, with long, dark shaggy hair and a thick beard to match. He had inherited the shop from his old man, and although he loved bikes, he wasn’t a businessman. After running the shop into the red in its first three months of operation, he’d hired the best staff he could find and let them run the shop for him.
“How about you tell us first where you were?” Evie folded her arms across her chest. She’d been happy to partner with Bill when he first approached her, but now she was pretty much running the show on her own and his unreliability was becoming an issue.